Grip Trilogy Box Set

“But, maybe if—”

“What are you saying?” I bunch my eyebrows into a scowl. “It’s settled. I’m not working with her anymore.”

I lace my fingers together behind my neck and heave a defeated breath.

“Dude.” I meet his eyes with complete honesty. “I just can’t.”

Rhyson searches my face for a few seconds before nodding and sliding off the stage.

“So when?” he asks.

“After Dubai.” I glance at my watch to see how late it is and hop off the stage, too. “I need to get ready.”

“What do you want me to tell her?”

“Nothing.” I bite the inside of my jaw, enjoying the slight pain. “I’ll tell her myself.”

“You sure?”

“If we’re ever going to be friends again, then yeah. I need to talk to her about it. Right now, I can’t be her anything. Not with things the way they are. Once I’m over her and have really moved on . . .”

I leave the thought half-done and shrug, heading back to get ready for the show because I have no idea what that will feel like.

Chapter 17

GRIP

HIGH SCHOOL. SENIOR year. School of the Arts theatre. Empty except for Rhyson and me. We’d snuck up to the catwalk and, legs kicking over the sides, dreamed out loud. Compared to the success he’d had early in life as a concert pianist, Rhyson’s dreams to write and produce music for other artists seemed modest. Mine, which were to be a voice to our generation, hear my music on the radio, and reach fans all over the world, seemed loftier than the catwalk we sat on that day.

Now Rhyson’s onstage introducing me, applauding with everyone else in the packed club as I join him. I can’t help but wonder if he ever thinks about the dreams we spoke into existence that day, the ones we worked into existence over the last decade.

“Here’s the man with the number one album on the charts,” Rhyson says, his smile wide and familiar. “How’s it feel, man?”

“Surreal,” I say into the mic. “I can’t even believe it.” “Well, believe it,” he says. “You deserve it.”

And I don’t have to wonder if he thinks about that day, about those dreams. It’s sketched on his face. The pride in his eyes and the excitement that practically vibrates off him. It isn’t just my album. It’s his label, something we’re building together.

“Anything to say before you perform for us?”

“Just thanks to everyone for all the support.” I look out over the crowd, straining to pick faces out of the clumps of people. I shield my eyes with one hand from the glare of the lights. “My mom’s here somewhere.”

“Over here, baby!” she screams from the left corner, making everyone laugh.

“You believed in me against every odd, Ma.” I struggle to keep a smile in place, swallowing the emotion thickening in my throat. “There’s no telling where I’d be if it weren’t for you and every sacrifice you made so I could be here today.”

“I love you,” she yells back.

“Love you, too, Ma.” I scan the room, packed but not so big it doesn’t feel intimate. “Max and Sarah, all the engineering guys. Everyone who worked on the project, Prodigy’s first, you guys are amazing. Thank you for all your hard work. Let’s keep doing it.”

Whoops and cheers come from the corner of the room where I know a good portion of the Prodigy team are gathered.

I could leave it there, move right into the three-song set and get this over with, but I can’t. Even when we’re barely speaking, when I can hardly look at her without getting pissed off, I can’t ignore that so much of this night and of my debut album’s success, I owe to Bristol. I don’t have to scan the room or search the crowd. She’s the compass in every room. I always seem to know exactly where she is. Where she always is when I perform. Backstage left.

“And Bristol.”

I swing my head around to that spot where she usually watches from backstage. She’s standing there, all business and sex in her suit, with her phone and those lips and those breasts and those heels that would dig into my ass with a sweet sting. Hearing her name catches her off guard, and she doesn’t have time to pull that mask in place or blink away that vulnerability from her eyes. She’s waiting, unsure of what I’ll say considering how things stand.

“You take everything to another level,” I say softly into the mic, unable to look away from the promise of storm in her cloud-gray eyes. “You’re the hardest working, most committed person I know. Your passion for my work has been evident since the day we met. Tonight wouldn’t be tonight without you.”